


Black Rose

by skywolf666



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Family Drama, Grief/Mourning, Half-Siblings, Protective Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 02:35:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7666993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skywolf666/pseuds/skywolf666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a well-practised ritual of the first princess of Nohr, to visit the graves of the half-siblings lost in the bloody time before she and her brothers had sworn an oath to be a family and solve the riddle of the succession amongst themselves. They were survivors of a war-torn childhood in the courts of Nohr, but as survivors, Camilla found it to be her duty to never forget. (Imported from FFN.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Rose

The first wisps of dawn were barely discernible through the gloom as the lone visitor to the sprawling graveyard checked her mount at the sterling-grey gates, but such a thing was not much of a concern to the axe-wielding woman. Rather, she much preferred the early hour and the silence it gave, and the darkness suited her mood just fine as she swung herself easily from the saddle of the ebony and deep violet-hued wyvern that was both her stalwart companion in battle, and her oldest friend. Her high-heeled boots touched down neatly on the sparse grass, and though she knew she was alone in her visitation, the first princess of Nohr could not help but hesitate at the sight of the gates ahead and the row upon row of graves that were nestled within.

No matter how many times she came to the graveyard, and Camilla came far too often for her own tastes, she never got used to the oppressive silence and cold that greeted her at the sight of it. Though many of the graves bore the names of strangers and the days they had entered and left the world, the few that held names she knew well never failed to bring a painful sort of chill through her body. She would have to pause, time and time again, and breathe in deep to remind herself that she, as the one who had survived, was simply not permitted to give into her baser instincts and flee what discomforted or hurt her. No, it was her duty to face such reminders, and with her chin lifted in defiance of her memory and regret, she would stride forward and do what needed to be done when others preferred to avert their eyes.

Still, her momentary pause was more than enough of a show of unease for her wyvern to react to it, and Camilla was not surprised when the great scaled head nudged ever so gently at her shoulder. The large beast leaned down protectively against her master's side, her massive dark wings stretching just enough to shield her as a soft and concerned chirrup emanated from deep within her throat. Despite herself, Camilla smiled gently at the gesture of her partner, and with her free hand, she reached to affectionately scratch underneath her wyvern's chin as she reassured her softly, “No need to concern yourself over me, Myrrh... I'm quite fine. I'll only be a moment.”

Myrrh's deep and almost unearthly bloodred eyes fixed on Camilla uncertainly despite the reassurance, but, in testament to her obedience, her wings folded against her sides and she settled herself slowly onto the ground. She chirruped again, just once to signify her unhappiness with her master's mood, but she would do as ordered and wait patiently for Camilla's return to her side for the short flight home. She disliked the graveyard every bit as much as her master, she could plainly see how much it discomforted her, but Camilla's insistence on venturing into the place was simply something she must abide, even if she did so begrudgingly. She would watch her every step from a distance, ready at a moment's notice to leap to her side if needed, and she settled with her belly to the grass as her master left her to attend to her ritual.

Camilla offered her another smile and a comforting pat, pleased as always with Myrrh's steadfast affection and obedience, before she turned back to the graveyard and made her way inside with her burden of black roses. Her feet knew the path by heart, she didn't know how many times she had made the journey to the graves, but she did know the way to each and every one she paid tribute to time after time. She was only thankful that it had been almost three months since she last had to visit, though she mused the gratitude did little to soothe her now as she picked her way slowly but surely through the paths.

The lavender-haired woman hated these visits fiercely, as much as she knew she was duty-bound to continue them. It was painful, finding those ornate and genuinely beautiful headstones to lay her bouquet of flowers next to, and it was even moreso to look at the names and remember the faces that belonged to them. And she remembered each and every face clearly, no matter how often she wished she could forget them. It was an anguish she carried silently within her chest, one she only shared with her brothers, but as her hand tightened unconsciously on the bouquet in her arms, she knew this particular pain was one she had to carry by herself.

Her feet stopped on their own in front of the large sable marker far to the west of the graveyard's entrance, and Camilla closed her eyes momentarily to stop herself from seeing the familiar face of stone and give herself a handful of precious seconds to prepare. It never became easier, even though she had come here more than a dozen times, and Camilla felt her body give an instinctive little shiver against a purely internal chill. Every atom of her body wished to drop the roses on the grass and flee, to return to the comforts of her home and bed and pretend she had never come out to the fringes of the city at all, but her duty kept her still. She was the survivor... and she was not permitted such a luxury. 

Camilla inhaled deeply, steeling herself for the slap of reality that would always make her heart ache and her hands feel cold and stained, and she slowly opened her eyes to take in the gorgeously ornate headstone before her. It was half her height and beautifully carved, pure ebony with silver lettering, and though she knew it had been painstakingly designed to be lavish and befitting of a princess' headstone, it was still the grave of a girl who had never experienced a full decade of life. 

It was still the grave of a little girl that she had murdered almost more than a dozen years ago.

The memory came sharp and clear, and Camilla made no attempt to stymie it. She could recall every instance of that day almost perfectly, and many times, especially when the anniversary of that day came close, she would wake up tangled in her sheets and crying from the pain of it as it haunted her dreams. While she had been a child then, too, it hadn't changed the outcome when she had been cornered in the long hall of the castle by the girl she had hoped could be her friend. Only one of them had walked away from that encounter alive, and to this day, almost twelve years later, Camilla still wished that she had been the one to die instead.

_"Rose...?! Wh-What are you doing with that dagger?!”_

_“You're in my way, Camilla... I have to get rid of you. Mother said so.”_

_“No, Rose, put the dagger down! You don't have to do this, no matter what your mother says!”_

The empty hall had echoed with her protests, but the younger girl had not listened and continued her advance. Camilla could see her now plain as day, Rose's long and sleek dark grey hair plaited into an elegant braid that she favoured, and harshly contrasting that beautiful white gossamer gown her mother had bribed her with earlier that week. Her pale pink lips were drawn into a defiant scowl when she brandished the dagger and rounded on the older girl fearlessly. She was only just nine years old, an age where she should have been handling dolls and china teacups rather than a weapon, but that dagger seemed a natural fit for her hand as if she had been born with it in her fingers.

Camilla had been no stranger to that, even at a tender eleven years old back then. She had been drilled in the art of weaponry the moment she was capable of holding one, because steel was always to be one of the many things she could use in her ever expanding arsenal as the eldest girl in the Nohrian courts. Whether it was to be steel, poison, or her soon-to-flourish feminine wiles, her mother had seen fit to tutor her relentlessly on the ways to fight her enemies to better cement her status as a mistress to the great king. She was never to be caught unawares, and never to be defenceless. No, she was always meant to be the aggressor, because to stay on the defensive would never help her mother rise up in status, and would never earn her love.

Still, for all her lessons and all her resolve, Camilla hadn't known what to do when she had been faced with another little girl with similar resolve to remove an obstacle in her mother's way. The ensuing struggle had been brief, shockingly so despite the danger and her fear, but it had not been clean. Older and stronger, Camilla hadn't had much trouble in wresting away the dagger from Rose's smaller hands, but the pale little girl had fought like a wildcat to turn the deadly edge onto her enemy's skin. The scramble to get the dagger into a safer hold had ended with its edge slashing into Rose's throat, and Camilla had been forced to watch in anguished horror as her half-sister's lifeblood flowed fast and free from the wound and painted the front of their dresses crimson.

In anguished horror, Camilla had sank to the polished marble floor with the shivering and fading form of her half-sister, at a complete loss of what to do as the dagger fell forgotten and bloody beside them. The end came far too fast and without fanfare, leaving the young girl no chance to overcome her shock as the life left the little girl's pale blue eyes and left them wide and staring at something far beyond in the distance. She lay pale and quickly cooling in Camilla's arms, her blood bright and wet and everywhere, a crimson sea and testament to the horror of death caused by her own hands.

At the age of eleven, Camilla had taken her first life, and though she had gone to take many more as the daughter of a concubine and then as a soldier, the lavender-haired woman knew that it was Rose's face that would haunt her for the rest of her days. Yet, it had been her mother's response to the news that had driven the true horror of her actions home, and with her half-sister's blood still yet to dry on her hands and clothing, she had received the first true words of praise she had ever heard from her mother's painted lips. She had dispatched her first rival, had taken her first life, and it was that news and that news alone that had brought the first compliment, the first words of love from her mother.

Camilla closed her eyes, inhaling a deep breath of the cool, biting air to calm herself from the tumult of the memories. It had been the first time she had heard her mother tell her she loved her, but that had also been the first time she had realized she hated the woman who had birthed her. The harshness of her training, the neglect and the cruelty she had faced at her mother's hands hadn't ever made her feel real hatred, it only made her wish to please her in hopes that she could earn her affection somehow. The price however of earning her love had been far too steep, and Camilla shook her head bitterly as she murmured to the silent and staring headstone before her, “I should have learned much sooner... Perhaps it could have saved you if I hadn't been so naive.”

Sighing raggedly, Camilla knelt carefully, reverently, in front of the headstone to deposit her burden gently in the sparse few strands of rough grass that covered the grave. The ebony roses looked small and humble next to the ornate headstone, but Camilla did not mind the contrast as she straightened and looked at the paltry offering to the deceased. She knew, like many of the children of those days did, that the headstone was only a false show of love and importance from parents who could not have cared less about the life of the dead little girl. The roses in comparison were a far more earnest show of respect and care even if they would wilt and disappear soon enough, though that thought didn't give her comfort, either.

No, the first princess of Nohr felt nothing but guilt and shame as she stared at the marker that not only memorialized the death of a little girl, but also stood as a testament of the first life she had ever taken. Her body felt heavy and cold as she stood alone in the graveyard, hating herself for her crimes and hating the parents who had brought such helpless and love-starved children into their own self-serving wars for status. She did not wish to count the number of half-siblings she had lost to the wars waged by the concubines her father had favoured, but the number, and all of the names, were seared so painfully upon her mind and heart regardless.

And Camilla could name them all without effort and pause, just as she knew Marx and Leon could. They, as the surviving three children of such turbulent and horrible times, could not afford to forget the bloody business that had left them to sort out the line of succession by themselves. Children as they had been, by the time the numbers had whittled down so thin, all three of them had been like shell-shocked war veterans as they swore an oath to let their baby sister never have to know the pain they all had suffered before her birth. She would grow up free and innocent, to know the childhood they never were permitted to have, even if it killed them to ensure it.

The roses sat still and silent at her feet, reflecting the nature of the girl who had taken her name from the beautiful blooms, and Camilla smiled weakly as she curled her arms tightly about herself. She had no illusions that her long-dead half-sister would have forgiven her or any of her other surviving siblings for their attempts to give a due to the dead by ensuring Elise's innocence remained intact. Such ideas were only sophistry, and the cold and cruel claws of reality were always there to remind her that the darkness of Nohr was all-encompassing. 

Only a small handful of lights shone there, only a few frail and pale lights could make their way out of the gloom of Nohr, and those lights still had to struggle violently to get through the murk. That was a fact the first princess knew well despite it all, especially when she looked upon Elise's lack of a mother, Eve's persistent sickness, and Aidan's morose nature. No, her home was not a place of warmth, tolerance, or forgiveness, and she had learned long ago to harden her heart to all who could and would be an enemy so she would never hesitate again. She could not allow herself to pause or falter, lest her misstep cost another life of someone close to her. She would not bury another by being weak and hesitant... She could not afford to.

A loud whinny from behind her cut through her thoughts, and Camilla turned sharply on her heel as she heard Myrrh rumble loudly immediately afterwards. Her wyvern had stood up, flaring her wings to warn the approaching stranger that her master's solitude was not to be intruded upon, but all too quickly Myrrh was relaxing and once again settling herself to the ground in a peaceful stance. Realizing immediately that Myrrh would only ever change her posture for a familiar face, Camilla relaxed her tense form as she watched a horse and rider appear from the gloom to check at the sight of the massive wyvern guarding the gates.

A small smile played across Camilla's face as she recognized the sable warhorse that her brother rode with pride and unchecked skill, and she didn't move as she watched Marx greet her wyvern with a nod and a warm call of her name. The winged mount chirruped a friendly greeting, her leathery wings twitching good-naturedly as she folded them again neatly about herself, and Camilla's smile widened at her mount's sweetness. It had been what had drawn her to the creature from the first as a girl, that sweet and open friendliness that seemed so strange from such a fierce beast, but if Marx seemed bothered by the contrast, he showed no sign as he swung down from his own mount. 

Camilla waited patiently for her elder brother's approach, knowing he would find her at once within the graveyard, and she was unsurprised when he made a beeline to her without even needing to look about to see where she was. The crown prince of Nohr was garbed as she was, simply and without armour for the quick trip to the edges of the capital city. It was a strange sight despite it all, seeing her elder brother dressed simply as a man rather than a prince or soldier, and it brought a small smile to her face as she raised a hand and waved to him in silence.

Marx returned the wave with a nod, and in a few more moments he was by her side with his long and quick stride. He paused however at the headstone before speaking, turning the full focus of his attention to the black slab of stone and closing his eyes in a moment of prayer. Camilla waited respectfully, knowing that his sense of honour and chivalry was more than just the code of a knight, and after a long moment, Marx opened his eyes and turned to look at her once again. He nodded a second time, offering a small, almost apologetic smile as he greeted her quietly, “Camilla... Forgive me for the intrusion. I knew I would find you here today.”

“I'm aware.” Camilla replied easily and with a little dismissive wave of her hand to let him know that she held absolutely no ill will towards him for joining her in the graveyard. It was an oddity to see him, she knew Marx's habits were to visit and pay his respects on the days of his half-siblings' births rather than the anniversary of their deaths, but she would never hold his appearance in such a place against him. He had every right to visit the graveyard as she, perhaps even moreso, and she reminded him of that with a gentle, “You know full well you don't need to apologize to me for coming here, Marx.”

“I know. It's only...” Marx trailed off meaningfully, turning his sharp burgundy gaze to the headstone as he let it speak for him as he knew that it would. Like Camilla knew him well, the crown prince was well aware of why she chose to come to pay her due to the dead the days they left the world as he came on the days they entered. While their opinions on how to show their respects differed, they still had the same goal in mind, and Marx had no plans whatsoever to ever condemn her for it. Taking a breath, he turned back to his sister as he continued gently, “You know I would only have come here to speak to you if it was important.”

Camilla acknowledged him with little more than a murmur, but as she expected, Marx did not push her as she turned back to the grave in silence. Despite the importance, he had interrupted, and he was a prudent and respectful enough man that he would wait for her to finish her thoughts before bringing up the matter at hand. She did not mind his presence as she did so, in truth his silent companionship was rather comfortable, and she closed her eyes and smiled faintly as she mused inwardly that she would need to thank him on their journey home together for being so kind to her.

'But he's always been so kind, hasn't he? Even when we were children... Though he's grown, not much has changed since then.' Camilla remarked with an inward chuckle, and she returned her gaze to the roses at her feet even though the sight of them only made her heart ache once again. Survivors though they were, Camilla knew better than to think they had escaped completely unscathed, and she was well and painfully aware that if anyone had the worst scars from their youth, it would be the man standing next to her. 

Crown prince and their father's undisputed favourite as he was as the queen's child, Marx's lofty status had not protected him from the envy and the hatred that many of his younger half-siblings felt towards him. The golden-haired prince had been forced into isolation many a time to protect him from the wrath of his father's many mistresses, and while he was bumbling and awkward and sometimes quite shy, there was still nothing he craved more than the companionship of his siblings. To be a target for their wrath had left him broken and pained, almost fatalistic, and Camilla had recognized that look of hopeless yearning in his eyes the first time she had officially met him so many years ago.

It had been that look, that painfully hopeful and yet tiredly resigned look in his deep burgundy eyes that had made her pause and forget the acidic whispers that had filled her ears from her mother's lips when he had introduced himself to her with a formal bow. Young though he was he had been drilled so properly in etiquette that it seemed completely second-nature to him, but there was still no disguising the fact that he was nothing more than a lonely child beneath the crown he wore. He simply wanted a friend, perhaps a sibling, to share his life with, and while the risk to let someone close to him was a potentially deadly one, it seemed one he was willing to take for a few moments of warmth and joy.

That fatalistic outlook of his had broken down Camilla's own resolve the closer she had gotten to the first prince as her mother had told her to do over the weeks, and made her realize just how similar she was to the older boy. She, too, only wanted to be loved and accepted for who she was rather than what she could do, and with Marx smiling at her even as he understood her mother had given her orders to kill him at the first opportunity... Camilla had found herself discovering the strength she had needed to disobey for the first time in her life. 

It had cost her the chance for her mother's love, but as Camilla had nursed her broken arm and bruised cheek from the woman's curse-laden wrath, the young princess had found herself pleased all the same. She did not need the acceptance of a woman who would only use her as a pawn to advance within the ranks of the Nohrian court. She had found something far better in the gentleness of Marx's smile, and that was all she needed to know that she had worth. She had lost a mother, but she had gained far more in her brother, and that was enough to help her look forward with an earnest smile and a courage she had never felt before in her youth.

Shaking her head a little as she understood Marx's arrival had effectively broken off her ability to remain focused completely on her previous goal, Camilla turned herself slightly to face the taller man with a little sigh. Though she admitted she was not quite in the mood to speak of important matters that likely involved their father and his latest orders for them, she knew better than to delay. Folding her arms absently in front of her chest, Camilla tilted her head slightly to the side as she broke the silence and asked, “What was the important matter that brought you here? Something concerning Hoshido, perhaps?”

“Well, in a very broad sense, perhaps.” Marx's answer surprised her, something that brought a fleeting smile to the usually stoic man's face at her confused blink in reply to him. Chuckling very quietly with pleasure to have made her hesitate, Marx turned slightly towards the exit in an offer to begin a walk back to their mounts as they talked. Camilla moved at once to do so, and the two moved with a slow ease towards their mounts as he explained, “I have been speaking with Gunter, as you know... He has informed me that both Aidan and Eve are ready to be properly tested within the month. After speaking with Father, it was decided that at the month's end, I will visit the fortress to properly gauge their skills to see if they will be permitted to join us in the castle.”

Camilla blinked several more times at the unexpected news, but all too quickly she felt a smile breaking over her face at the idea of the test that she knew the twins had been increasingly eager to take. She had suspected for the last year or so that Aidan had become more than proficient enough to fight his elder brother on relatively equal terms, but Eve had not shown similar confidence despite her leaps and bounds in her training with the old Nohrian general. Still, Aidan had insisted that they were to be tested together rather than separately, and with Gunter's endorsement that Eve's confidence had finally grown enough to warrant a proper test of strength, Camilla could only murmur with pleasure, “That is extremely good news... But why wait for a month to test them? Will you be away in the interim on the front again?”

“No, for the moment, I will not be required at the front. Rather, I believed it prudent to wait so that they can be informed ahead of time of the test. A month of preparation will do them both good... and I hoped to spend a week or two with them in the interim.” Marx admitted with a small but earnest smile, and Camilla could not help but laugh at his honest answer that proved he was missing his younger siblings as much as they were likely missing him. It had been quite some time since he had last been able to visit the fortress with the mounting tensions between Nohr and Hoshido, and he continued with a quiet chuckle of his own, “I believe I could use the break, and I have been rather absent from their lives the past several months.”

“I'd say. Eve has been missing you fiercely.” Camilla couldn't help but remark pointedly, and she took a small bit of guilty pleasure in the way her elder brother slumped slightly beneath the barb. Eve's hero-worship of Marx was no small or well-kept secret, and while she had grown out of shadowing the older man whenever her visited the fortress, there was still no doubt that she held no one but him in the highest of her esteem. Gently nudging her brother with her elbow as they reached the gates of the graveyard, Camilla added with a lighter giggle, “Not to mention that Aidan has been almost itching for a chance to cross blades with you again. I daresay he is almost excited.”

“Aidan, excited? That would be the day.” Marx chuckled at the very idea of the incredibly stoic young man being excited, and he shook his head with wonder. It was rare, exceptionally so, that the platinum-haired prince showed emotion of any true depth in contrast to his free-spirited and loving twin sister. He was a solemn and intense young man at best and a cold and almost mechanical one at worst, but Marx did admit that his reasoning and drive was second to none. Even Gunter had claimed he had never had a more avid student in swordplay. “Still, I admit I am looking forward to a proper rematch with him... He has been improving in leaps and bounds this past month. Him and Eve both.”

“Well, Eve is very aware that Aidan is only growing more talented and capable with each passing day... and you know how Eve is. She doesn't want to hold Aidan back much longer. As far as she's concerned, Aidan should have been tested months ago, if not years.” Camilla remarked with a small and weary shake of her head, and she patiently greeted her wyvern as she and Marx left the graveyard and entered the quiet of the glade outside of its boundaries. The sense of peace and calm that immediately surrounded them once they were beyond the perimeter of the graveyard was palpable, and Camilla allowed Myrrh to nuzzle and huff warmly at her as she continued almost conversationally, “She truly is a loyal girl, if nothing else.”

“She's stronger than she gives herself credit for... I fear mostly that she's instinctively holding back. She has no love for war. She's too much of a pacifist.” Marx pointed out with a small smile despite the otherwise condemning words, and as he adjusted his horse's saddle, he had to admit silently to himself that he could not entirely find fault in the little princess' idealism. Leon had claimed, and with complete seriousness, that he believed his elder sister could charm a feral wyvern out of its distemper, and Marx agreed that he was rather sure she likely could perform such a feat if she wished to with her grey wisdom and gentle heart. “Still, someone who knows the value of a life is a much more worthwhile soldier than one who discounts it.”

Camilla hummed her agreement, though her smile was admittedly tinged with a hint of sadness as she turned her gaze again to the graveyard even as Marx swung himself up onto his saddle. She knew Marx's statement was true, but it still caused a pinprick of pain to flare within her chest as she pictured the bouquet of black roses that were left to sit still and wilt on the grave they had left behind. The value of life was indeed something she hoped that the twins would learn and keep with them for the rest of their days, though Camilla knew it was hypocrisy to say such. She had discarded that lesson long ago, and she admittedly felt little guilt for it as she thought of the daggers that could slip by her to cut the cords of life that kept her dear siblings clinging to her world if she was ever to hesitate.

As Camilla rested a hand gently on Myrrh's neck, she closed her eyes for a moment as she focused intensely on the image of the black roses lying on the grass of the grave. It was an image she wanted engraved in her mind for the times when she knew she could not afford to show the mercy she hoped others would in her stead, and the first princess of Nohr allowed herself a small sigh and a bitter little smile as she knew it was too late for her to change her ways. At the end of the day, she simply had no desire to leave more roses on the graves of the handful of siblings she had left, and though she knew it cruel... She would never apologize. She was no rose, but rather the thorns of one, and that was simply the path she had chosen to walk until the end of her days.

**Author's Note:**

> I love the Concubine Wars, I love Camilla, and I love Marx. That is what fuelled this fanfic from start to finish, and I am completely and utterly unapologetic for the mess that you just read. XD This really came about from a long year of headcanon-ing with my girlfriend about the experiences that the Nohrian siblings had to have gone through during their youth, and after finding that my muse somehow hadn't abandoned me after writing out the second piece of Trials of the Night, I figured I may as well ride out the wave and see what happened... and this is the outcome of such a venture.
> 
> Still, I find myself oddly happy with this, even though this wasn't the piece I originally was hoping to write soon about Camilla. Not that I wanted THIS piece to take a different direction, I just had a different idea I wanted to do, but this came about first. I'm weird. Anywho, I know that there have been a lot of other fics exploring the idea of the Concubine Wars, but this is just my spin on it. I left the main idea of how many kids were lost to the fighting up in the air since I really don't have any idea and I didn't want to put an exact figure on it, but I did want to demonstrate the sheer impact I think it had to have had on the elder siblings in the semi-present time of canon.
> 
> REGARDLESS. I am gonna continue because I know I have more up my sleeve for what I wanna do, and since my muse seems to be with me, I am simply gonna ride the wave until it's gone and hope that I can get a few things out of my system in the interim. If you feel the need, please drop me a review and let me know what you think, and thank you very much for reading up until now. I hope you're all having great days, and I will see again hopefully with another update soon!
> 
> PS: It was a bit of an inside joke, as a long-time FE player, to name Camilla's wyvern Myrrh after one of the many dragonkin and/or manaketes in the series. Continuing with the joke, I and my girlfriend created this elaborate headcanon that perhaps all of the characters with mounts named their partners after a related character in the series, just like Cherche did with Minerva. So, Marx has Hector for his stallion, Leon's named his horse Knoll, and little Elise named her pony L'Arachel. (And Gunter's old warhorse is named Jaegan for obvious reasons. -shot-)
> 
> Mood: Excited.
> 
> Listening To: "Till It Happens To You" - Lady Gaga
> 
> ~ Sky


End file.
